Dad and Merle and I found a bluff once on a hunting trip. Or, maybe they'd found it before and were showing it to me, I can't remember. What I do remember is that my dad showed me how I could yell off the bluff – "Go right on ahead, Daryl, you just scare off all the damn game," Merle had griped – and have whatever I said echo back to me. One time I yelled something, I think just my name, and it came back to me three times. I thought that was pretty impressive. But that echo? That has nothing on the one that bounces around in my head as we walk the final stretch to the highway, as we climb up the hill, as we reach the guardrail and see Dale standing on the road with his rifle.

This echo is Still alive . . . Still alive . . . Still alive . . .

Carl's been shot will jump in occasionally. But mostly it's just that, just Still alive. These are the words that haunt me as I make myself climb over the guardrail, place my feet on asphalt, stand straight and be steady.

Glenn, Glenn's talking. Listen, Sydney, listen.

". . . like Zorro on a horse and took Lori." Glenn's out of breath, from the hill, from the topic, from both, I'm not sure.

Dale turns to my dad, stepping over the guardrail after me. "You let her?"

"Climb down out of my ass, old man!" Dad's in a bad mood now. Somewhere in my mind I wonder how long that'll last, but mostly my mind is too busy dealing with pounding hooves and gasps and Still alive . . . Still alive . . . Still alive . . . Dad's talking more. "Rick sent her. She knew Lori's name, and Carl's." He brushes past Dale, over to the motorcycle.

Dale's asking about screams then, Andrea's screams, but I don't pay it any mind. I'm following Dad over to the motorcycle. He puts his crossbow on the back and I lean against the car the bike's beside. But the throbbing in my legs reminds me that I've been walking all day, and so I sink to the ground.

"Hey," my dad says, sitting down beside me. The voice he used with Dale is gone, which offers me a tiny bit of relief. He hands me the canteen and I gulp some water down, and even though it's warm, it still feels good sliding down my throat. I'm a little more like me when I finish, the echo isn't as loud, and my heart isn't pounding in my ears anymore. Meanwhile, Dad says, "Gettin' shot ain't a death sentence. You heard her, Carl's alive."

I bite my lip, take two breaths. "She said 'still.' She said he was still alive. She didn't say . . ." My throat closes up and I cough. "I mean, she didn't say he'd be okay . . ."

Dad rubs my neck. "Stop it. You're overthinkin' that. We don't know nothin' about it, no matter what you think you heard."

"I don't think I heard anythin', you heard her, too! She said –"

"I said stop it. Look, you're makin' yourself cry, we don't want that, do we?"

He's right on both accounts. A tear just slipped from my eye and I hate it. I grimace and put fists into my eye sockets, drowning out still still still with stop stop stop. Dad keeps on rubbing my neck. The lump in my throat eventually dissolves and I remove my fists, see stars for a minute, and then feel almost normal again. Just really, really exhausted.

"Good girl," Dad murmurs. He kisses the side of my head and stands. "How 'bout I get us some food?"

"I ain't hungry."

"Well, you gotta eat."

So I let him walk off to dig something up, and I just sit there and chew on my knuckle with my head turned so he won't catch me at it, and I listen to the echo in my head, teasing me like a sixth-grader on the playground at school.

. . . . .

We gather beside the RV door less than twenty minutes later (all of us except T-Dog, who Dale says it sick). Apparently at some point when the woman on the horse was talking to us, she gave us directions to where Carl was. Some house – no, a farm – close by. Within a few miles. Dale wants us to go tonight.

"I won't do it," Carol says as soon as he suggests this. "We can't just leave."

I look up at her from my place next to Dad. I really want to lean against him, my dad, close my eyes and rest and let him set his hand on my head or my shoulder, but this is an important discussion, and I'm old enough to be a part of it, and so I cross my arms and listen, listen as Dale sighs and explains.

"Carol," he says wearily, leaning against the RV's open door, "The group is split. We're scattered and weak."

"What if she comes back? And we're not here?" Carol's voice is high. "It could happen . . ."

Sophia. Sophia, delicate Sophia. In all of my thoughts about Carl and guns and bullets and still alive still alive still alive, Sophia has slipped farther back into my mind than she should have. Now I pull her up again, and I imagine her showing up here, dirty and bleeding but alright, only she finds herself all alone on a dark, lonely highway . . .

"If she came back and no one was here . . ." I say faintly. All eyes turn to me, and I turn mine to the ground. I don't want to say anything else, so I just shake my head, let that do my talking.

"That would be awful," Andrea finishes for me, and I go from shaking my head to nodding it.

"Okay," says my dad. I look up and he's nodding, too. "We gotta plan for this. I say tomorrow morning is soon enough to pull up stakes."

I swallow. "But Sophia –"

"Listen, Syd," he says softly before addressing the other four again. "That'll give us enough time to rig a big sign. Leave her some supplies."

Yes. Yes, that takes care of Sophia and gets us to Carl. Yes, I like this plan. Dad's smart.

He gestures at me. "Syd and I'll hold here tonight. Stay with the RV."

"If the RV is staying, I am too," says Dale.

"Thank you," says Carol, looking from one man to the other. "Thank you both."

A muscle in my calf cramps. I cave and lean on my dad. His arm falls loosely against my side, the tips of his fingers tracing a circle on my arm.

"I'm in," I hear Andrea say just as I close my eyes.

Glenn's next. "Well, if you're all staying, then I'm –"

"No, not you, Glenn," Dale interrupts. "You're going. Take Carol's Cherokee."

"Me? Why is it always me?"

"You have to find this farm, reconnect with our people, and see what's going on," Dale says, his tone leaving no room for argument. "But most important, you have to get T-Dog there. This is not an option."

T-Dog? It's that bad? I open my eyes and follow Dale's pointing arm over to the other end of the RV, where T-Dog is hunched over, covered with a blanket. "That cut has gone from bad to worse," Dale says. "He has a very serious blood infection. Get him to that farm –"

"Hold on, babe . . ." Dad murmurs to me, nudging me away from him and going over to the motorcycle. Dale's Papaw-like voice reminds me of a lullaby even as it's going on about antibiotics, and I have to work to keep my eyelids up as Dad rummages through the motorcycle bags. He pulls off some white rags and shoots Dale a look just before his other hand comes up with a big plastic bag full of orange medicine bottles. It's Merle's, I've seen it once or twice.

"Keep your oily rags off my brother's motorcycle." Dad throws those rags at Dale as he comes back, plopping the bag onto the hood of a car. "Why'd you wait till now to say anything? Got my brother's stash."

"What stash?" I ask.

Dad doesn't seem to hear me. He rifles through the medicine. "Crystal . . . X, don't need that . . . Got some kickass painkillers." He tosses one of the bottles to Glenn, looks again, and then tosses another bottle to Dale. "Oxycycline. Not the generic stuff, neither. That's first class . . . Merle got the clap on occasion."

I'm lost. "What's the cl –"

"Don't ask, Little Bit."

. . . . .

I end up falling asleep before nightfall, right after Glenn and T-Dog leave. I knock out in the RV's passenger seat, of course, because I think it's sort of my spot now. I dream of a doll that gets lost in the woods and shot, shot by Andrea on accident, and Dale's there, shaking his head and telling Andrea he told her so, he told her so. Then the doll takes some pills and heals up, and then it suddenly turns into Sophia, and she runs from us all, and I go after her, chase her into a barn, but instead of Sophia I find Carl, and he's shot . . . right in the head, like a walker . . .

I wake up and I hate dreams.

It's dark outside. There's a blanket at my feet and noises behind me tell me I'm not alone. I listen. Two sounds try to drown each other out: This clicking, mechanical noise and sobbing. I don't know about that first one, but the second is Carol. Those sobs, they reach into me and clench my stomach, hurting, hurting really bad. I curl up into a ball and don't even bother pretending I can go back to sleep now. I want my dad. Where –

And just then: "I need my clip now."

That's him, that's Dad. I twist around. He's standing by the table, crossbow over his shoulder, and I can see the back of a blonde head – Andrea's sitting there. She hands him something, the clip from his gun, I guess – what's she doing with that? – and as he fixes the weapon up he tells her, "I'm gonna walk the road. Look for the girl."

The sobbing pauses. My dad turns his head to the back room, where I'd bet Carol is. I see his head move in a quick nod. Then he turns this way, going for the door.

"Dad? I wanna go." I put my feet on the ground, my eyes wide. I'm ready.

But Dad, he shakes his head when he sees me. "Nuh-uh. You stay here, get some sleep."

"I slept. I ain't tired no more. Please?"

"No, Sydney. Go back to sleep." Then he's gone. I sigh and slump against the seat. About ten seconds after Dad steps out of the left-open door, Andrea's up from the table. She brushes gazes with me as she follows Dad outside.

"I'm coming, too," I hear her say.

"I'm goin' for a walk," Dad says loudly. He must be talking to Dale, yes, Dale will be keeping watch up top. "Shine some light in the forest. If she's out there, it'll give her somethin' to look at."

"Do you think that's a good idea right now?"

"Dale," Andrea snaps, and that's all she says, but I know that sometimes grownups pack a lot of meaning into single words. Like in that word, Andrea just told Dale that she's really mad at him.

Footsteps, then nothing. I watch out the passenger window as the figures of Dad and Andrea fade into darkness, Dad's spotlight the only sign that they're still out there as they move among the cars, over to the woods.

I'm mad. Dad should have let me go. What am I supposed to do? Sit here and think about Carl, lying somewhere with a hole through his body? Or Sophia, off in the woods alone without a clue of what to do to stay alive?

I can't do anything about Carl. Not tonight. But I could have done something about Sophia. I could have gone to look for her.

But no.

Dad still treats me like a little kid in a lot of ways, and it ain't fair. When I told him how Sophia was just a kid and he acted surprised that I thought of her that way? That was wrong. I may be younger, but I can handle myself way better than that twelve-year-old baby. I wonder what she's doing right now . . . huddling against a tree . . . or running through the dark . . . scared, clinging to her doll . . .

And with those thoughts, those simple, sad thoughts, the poison in my heart – the fury – it all drains away. I'm left empty of everything but guilt and pity, and it doesn't help that Carol's whimpering. I can't just sit here. I can't just sit here and listen to her and do nothing while her daughter's missing and maybe even –

Not going to think about that. That's not how it is.

I check out my window. I can still see my dad's spotlight.

I can't, I can't just sit here. I have to at least help. Even if my dad doesn't know it . . .

Oh, he'd kill me if he saw.

So I won't let him see.

I can be sneaky.

I feel my waist. My knife, my nice new one, all sharp and ready, it's still hooked onto my jeans.

My legs make the decision for me, really. They were so tired earlier today, but now they're as alive and strong as ever. They lift me off the seat. They form into tiptoes. They take me down the RV steps, quiet as a mouse, through the open door and into the warm moonlit night, and then it's too late to turn back, isn't it?

I press against the side of the RV, keeping out of Dale's sight. How to do this, how to do this . . . The cars. I'm small enough to hide behind the cars, if I'm really careful, and even crawl under most of them, like I did with that truck when I went to T-Dog yesterday, during the walker attack.

Dad's going to get so mad.

He won't see me. He'll never see me.

I take a deep breath. I still have an eye on Dad's spotlight, bobbing by the guardrail, but I have to be quick if I want to keep it in sight, and I definitely have to keep it in sight, I can't throw all caution to the wind.

I dart to the nearest car and duck behind it, my footsteps quiet – this is where being half-raised by a hunter comes in handy. I wait for Dale to call my name, to call my dad, to ruin my plan. But he doesn't. I'm being too sneaky.

I look over at the next car. It's high enough off the ground for me to just slip right under it, and so I do. From then on, it's pretty much that easy. I crawl along the asphalt, and my elbows don't like it, but I grit my teeth and do it, because this is for Sophia. Sophia, all alone and scared.

I reach the guardrail and half-stand. Dad's light is still there, far but not too far into the woods. I risk a look over the car I've just come up from and see that Dale is looking the other way. Perfect. I climb over the guardrail and those strong legs of mine are clumsy carrying me down the slope, but I manage to stay on my feet and then I'm on flat ground again, and the hill is now guarding me from Dale's eyes. I'm home free. All I have to do from here is follow Dad's spotlight and look for Sophia.

I take one step forward and that's when it occurs to me that I'm alone in these woods for the first time. Well, not really alone, I'd never do that. I'm pretty much with my dad, he's right up there, even if he doesn't know it. But I'm closer to alone than I've ever been before. I look into the dark forest and a tingling feeling that feels a little like fear crawls up my ribs, seeps into my gut.

But I know the woods. Even at night, I know the woods. And I'm brave. And this is for Sophia. I take a breath, huff it out, focus my attention on Dad's spotlight. And into the woods I go.

. . . . .

A.N.: Three updates in one day! This is what happens when I have unexpected free time . . . Hope you all enjoy. Remember that I would love to hear any thoughts/general feedback if you have the time. Thanks for reading!